


Music Makes The People Cum Together

by orphan_account



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Multi, Music Kink, Public Sex, Smut, Synesthesia, Threesome, audio-tactile synesthesia, m/m/f, rick enjoys a good time, three way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 14:39:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5970688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick wakes up the reader in order to take a little trip through space and time to see a certain band... and maybe take advantage of a certain condition the reader has.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Music Makes The People Cum Together

**Author's Note:**

> What a title, right? So, this story deals with the reader having audio-tactile synesthesia. This is a 'disorder' that I have, and it manifests in different ways for many people and this is only one way it manifests itself for me. I am only speaking from my own experience. Feel free to ask questions, but simply put, synesthesia is when two or more sensory systems cross wires in your brain and produce strange and interesting sensory output in the afflicted. For me, certain sounds produce physical sensations and strong/intense emotional reactions. 
> 
> Okay, now, run along, we all know what you're here for.

It’s an ungodly hour on your world as you allow Rick to drag you through the portal. Your eyes still burn with sleep, and you’re only wearing some slinky nightgown that Rick pulled over your head in a hurry. “You-You look fine, move your ass. We’ve got places to be,” he had spat, swigging out of his flask. You whined and grumbled, but ultimately complied. When was it ever a bad time with Rick? Or, at least, a boring time? So, you’d pulled a jacket over the flimsy, black nightie and let him grab your arm and pull you through.

  
Now you stood inside some dingy club, the air stale with smoke and sweat and booze. “What the fuck,” you grumble. “Why are we here?” Despite your tone, you can feel the first tingles of anticipation. Anticipation or something else; speakers delivered a generic bass-heavy tune into the room as the stage was set up. It made your belly warm.

  
“It, uuhhhhh, it-it’s a show. You’ll love it. You already like it, don’t you,” he taunts, looking down at you. His eyes are lidded and knowing. He smirks as your cheeks burn. “Yeeaaahhh, that’s what I - what I thought.”

  
You ignore him, but you both know he’s right. The music isn’t even good, it’s just doing the right things. He gives you this look often in the spaceship, where he listens to a surprising variety of music. Once in a while a song, a riff, a harmony - it’s always a surprise - will catch you right between the legs and you’ll glance at the radio. He always chuckles and turns it up. You always grip the seat and grit your teeth as you ride silently through the throbbing, shooting waves of pleasure it gives you, the sound itself, sometimes so blatantly erotic that you don’t understand why most people don’t feel this way. It didn’t take him long to catch on to your little problem - he was a goddamn scientific genius, it wasn’t hard to figure out.

  
He discreetly slips a hand up between your legs, from behind, and you glance around. “Rick,” you warn him, but he doesn’t acknowledge you. His fingertips brush up against your cunt. His smirk just gets more intense.

  
“Thaaaaaaat’s right, babe. You just wait.”

  
You don’t have to wait long. The band takes the stage to face the frenzied crowd, screaming and howling their excitement. The singer is so familiar that it barely takes time to realize who it is, and you gape at Rick. “Holy shit!” You do a double take; a triple take. The singer is a younger Rick, hair long and wild and a touch brighter. He wears a torn, loose jean vest held together with pins, patches and studs. His ripped jeans fit him like a second skin, unzipped, blue pubic hair trailing up and disappearing around his belly button. He screams into the mic and his band - The Flesh Curtains, of course that’s the name - launches into a guitar-heavy set.

  
The music is good, but it isn’t until the second song that it becomes the right sound. It sounds so sexual and you look around, but of course the crowd is acting like normal concertgoers. You are throbbing. Younger Rick has spotted both of you and grins, cocking his head in silent invitation. Rick grins and pulls you up with him. Your thighs are trembling and you can feel the slickness of them as you move. You pray nobody can see up your nightie.

  
Younger Rick gestures at his bandmate - is that a younger Birdperson? - and leads you both backstage as the music throbs and pumps through the speakers. He pushes you back against Rick, so that you’re sandwiched tightly between them. “I hear you have a special condition, baby,” he rasps in your ear. There are fingers crawling between your thighs again, but you aren’t sure whose. “Rick brought you to share. You - You like sharing, don’t you?”

  
You are so hot and bothered that you can only nod. You can feel Rick’s bulge behind you, and this new Rick is pressing his own to your thigh. Two mouths lick and bite at your throat, hands caress and tug and scratch. The music is continuing out on stage, perfect as though it were put together for you. It’s euphoric.

“Please,” you moan. You aren’t sure what you really want. You’re drowning in sensation. Just the music and their suggestive rubbing has you ready to come.

  
Your Rick is impatient and bends you forward. Younger Rick slips his fingers into your mouth and grins at your desperate licking and sucking. Rick’s cock is pressed against you and fills you, too quickly, making you whine. He moans and snaps his hips violently. “Go-ooooooood, I love that,” he rasps. Younger Rick arches you back up so he can kiss you, biting your lips. He strokes himself through his jeans. His erection is showcased obscenely, and it makes you clench around Rick. Someone’s fingers circle your clit, slippery and quick and perfect. Younger Rick is biting your throat and your Rick digs his nails into your hips.

  
“Oh - oh f-fuhhuuuck-” your Rick grunts and thrusts slowly, pushing as deep as he can manage, pulsing as he comes. He pulls out and the eager frontman before you lifts your hips with surprising ease, sliding his now-exposed cock to replace Rick’s. He moans and fucks you at a new angle, hitting a magical spot deep inside. Your Rick dutifully reaches around you and continues stroking your clit, the other hand hiking up your nightgown and playing with your breasts. Younger Rick eyes you appreciatively and he is flushed and gorgeous, biting his lip, gasping.

  
A particularly well-timed riff on stage surprises you into orgasm, and you clench your thighs around this new Rick and throw your head back against your own Rick. Both men murmur filthy, encouraging things to you as you come, and it’s enough to send this Rick to his own completion. He musters a few extra thrusts in before slipping out of your body and lowering you back to your feet. He plants kisses and soft nips along your shoulder before winking at you and arranging his cock back into his clothing. “Come again, little doll,” he says. He runs back onstage and the crowd shrieks.

  
“Nice,” Rick comments. You press your thighs together and fix your nightie.

  
“I need a bathro-"

  
“No,” Rick interjects. He grins and throws an arm around you. “Bar first, then we can see, uh, how I - what I think about that. Be, be a good girl, and let’s get a drink.” You glare in response and jump when he slaps your ass to get you moving.

The truth remained - it hadn’t been a boring night.


End file.
